


Vengeance of a Revenant

by MissBeiBauble



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Torture, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Everyone Needs A Hug, Loki & Tony Stark Friendship, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki Whump, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Original Character - Freeform, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Canon, Protective Tony Stark, Science Bros, Self-Indulgent, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBeiBauble/pseuds/MissBeiBauble
Summary: Trapped and separated from the rest of the team in an otherworldly imprisonment, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton think they've gotten their answers when they discover the God of Mischief and Making People Kneel trapped with them. They soon realize, however, that answers are a long ways in coming, and things are nowhere near what they seem as they are forced to take part in the justice Loki has been deemed deserving of.Humanity was Loki's downfall; it would now be his salvation.





	1. Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for giving this a try; fair warning, I am not super familiar with the voices of three out of the four main characters in this fic (see if you can guess who, heh heh...), so apologies if people are a bit OOC (or even very much OOC). I'm hoping to get better as I get into the groove of writing this. Really hope you enjoy!

It was a struggle for Clint Barton to open his eyes. He felt like he really needed to put in the effort behind the muscles of his eyelids to get them to slowly lift. Then he had to let them fall and repeat the process in an endeavor to clear his fuzzy vision. His head, too, felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. If he didn’t know himself better he would’ve chalked his condition up to being derived from a long, alcohol-filled evening the night before. He wasn’t one to indulge in such activities, however; he wasn’t Tony Stark.

Speaking of, a glance about his immediate surroundings informed him that the multibillionaire was lying beside him on the dusty hardwood floor, snoring away as Barton himself had no doubt been doing until a few moments ago. He blinked and furrowed his brows. Hardwood floor…since when did Stark Tower have hardwood floors? And why was it so dark and musty in here? He squinted and tried to speed up the process of adjusting to the low light. It was taking longer than it should have, especially for a man with a highly trained sense of sight as he had. 

The unfamiliar surroundings he and Stark were situated in put his nerves on edge. He had no recollection of coming to such a place, by himself or otherwise. His last memory was of falling asleep on a bed in one of the many guest rooms Stark had included in the structure of his tower, being the accommodating man that he was for the number of guests that he often received. Barton and Natasha Romanoff were both staying there, as their particular skills were needed in assistance with some new ‘super’ villain that was threatening the city. The thought brought an instinctive scowl upon his face; he’d dealt with enough super villains for a lifetime. It’d only been a month, for crying out loud.

A month was nowhere near long enough for him to scrape away the remaining remnants of… _him_ in his mind. He didn’t think he ever would, not completely. Never to the way it was before. 

An abrupt snort from Stark startled him out of his bitter thoughts and reminded him that they were both very much in potential danger. He had to look around, find a light switch or something of the sort. 

Just as he got to his feet, Stark began to stir, bringing a hand to his face and scrubbing at it with a yawn. He opened his eyes with what looked like as much effort as Barton had had to use, and it was clear he was not altogether comfortable with the fact. After another quick glance around to confirm there were no immediate sources of light, Barton offered his hand to help the inventor up.

“Jesus,” was the first thing to come out of Stark’s mouth as he stood, his tone vehement. “I only had two shots of Scotch last night. Either someone felt the need to spike my drinks, or…” He blinked a couple of times. “Yeah. No. Definitely feels like a roofie.”

Barton nearly smirked at the similarity Stark’s immediate conclusion had to his own when he woke up.

“I doubt it,” he told him. “I feel the same way, and I didn’t have anything to drink last night.” 

Stark, squinting around with the face of a man who couldn’t make out whether a map was right side up or not, exclaimed, “…Where are we? This sure as hell isn’t my place.” 

Barton began making his way along the dusty wall, which felt like it was wallpapered, and he could faintly see a dull fleur-de-lis type pattern repeating itself on it. His sight now better adjusted, it became apparent that the room that they were in was large and spacious. The ceiling was high above them, and he could just make out what looked to be a wide, grand set of stairs on the opposite side of the room. 

“You think the others are here, too?” Stark asked, still trying to better his vision and ambling a bit towards the center of the room. Barton shook his head just as his hand came across a wall sconce. It came alive at his touch and lit up, the berth of warm glow illuminating the men’s faces as they looked at each other. 

Barton frowned. “This does not look like the type of place that would have touch-sensitive light fixtures.”

“Lemme see,” Stark said as he went over to stand by the sconce. He didn’t have to see for long before saying, “Huh. For all intents and purposes, this is a plain ol’ gas light. It couldn’t have been lit without a flame, unless it’s made to only look like a gas light, for…some weird reason.” 

No sooner had he finished speaking when the whole area became lit with candlelight all at once, a hush of flame sweeping throughout the room as a chandelier and several other sconces received their fuel from god knew what. It wasn’t nearly enough to send the men into a panic, but it certainly got them a few notches closer to it. Stark cursed.

“Okay, let it be officially known that I do not appreciate whatever the hell kind of prank this is supposed to be. I’m getting some serious bad vibes; like, haunted house type vibes.”

Barton nodded his agreement as he let his gaze roam along the upstairs railing, about twenty feet above them. The chandelier helped a little with vision, but the darkness its light was competing against was dense and heavy, subtly more so than the average abandoned building’s. He couldn’t make out anything beyond an inch of the wooden spokes of the railing as he should have been able to. 

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

They both jumped, and as Stark muttered another profanity Barton called out, “Show yourself!”

A figure quickly appeared at the top of the steps, and the two men let out a sigh of slight relief to find it was Bruce Banner. By the look on his face, he shared their sentiment.

“Thank God,” he uttered in his usual soft tone, with only a touch of anxiety raising its pitch. “I thought I would have to deal with this by myself.” He didn’t come down the stairs.

“I know, the situation could be worse…well, I think it could. Really can’t say for sure yet what we’re dealing with.” Clint took another sweeping glance around at what could now be deemed a parlor room. All that was missing was a front door. And any other door, for that matter.

Banner ran a hand through his hair, a not-quite grimace on his face. “Yeah, well, I may be able to,” he said tentatively, to the astonished faces of his comrades. “You’re going to want to come up and see this.” 

After an exchanged glance, Stark and Barton made their way up the steps. The darkness of the second floor seemed almost eager to welcome them into its stifling embrace.

“How can it be this dark up here?” Barton muttered. “You’re lucky you didn’t fall down the stairs,” he said to Banner. Stark began to run his hand across the wall, looking for another one of those ‘plain ol’ gas lights’.

“Yeah. I’d gotten sort of adjusted to it, been ambling around for maybe ten minutes or so, until…” He paused to blow out his breath. “I found something.” 

Light flooded the landing where they stood, the same warm tones of candlelight that had illuminated the parlor area before. Barton and Banner turned to look at Stark, who had just jerked his hand away from a newly lit sconce. He glanced back at them, brows raised.

“Well…good to know that works.”

Having the ability to see just where they were going made following Banner a much easier task. Although, as much as he trusted him, Barton found the idea of trailing near-blindly after someone in a completely unfamiliar setting rather unpleasant. As it was, he felt highly uncomfortable walking past so many closed doors on either side of them. There were just too many possibilities lurking behind each one, and the heavy, continuous silence of the house (until they had some idea of where exactly they were, he figured it most closely resembled a very old house) did nothing to ease his nerves. 

The narrow hallway seemed never ending. He sincerely hoped Banner hadn’t mixed up his bearings; whatever he had come across earlier might just get them out of their bizarre situation. He found it more than a little strange, however, that Banner didn’t even try to explain just what he was leading them to. Questions were met with pursed lips and “just wait”s. 

So they just waited, walking quietly along and bouncing half-hearted ideas of what, where, and how off of each other (they weren’t even going to think about the why until the basics were covered). 

After a few turns, activating wall sconces as needed, Bruce finally stopped them in front of a set of tall double doors. The doors themselves were unadorned, made of a dark wood like their single counterparts. 

Bruce looked at Stark, and then at Barton. His words seemed especially directed towards the latter of the two. “Okay, so, just letting you know, there’s nothing dangerous in there. Well, at least – as far as I can tell. Just be prepared to, uh… It might take you a little off guard.”

“You know, I really don’t appreciate what you’re putting my nerves through right now, on top of everything else,” Stark informed him. “Is it really so hard to just tell us?”

Bruce’s expression was answer enough. Barton exhaled through his nose.

“Well, let’s have the grand reveal, then,” he said, gesturing at the doors. 

With a little nod, Banner gingerly wrapped a hand around the knob of one of the doors and opened it. 

Unsurprisingly, the room was dark. They stepped in and immediately began hunting for a sconce.

“Funny, the light was already on when I first came here,” Banner mumbled. “Oh, I think I got it.” Sure enough, within a second they were able to truly take in their surroundings as light filled the room. The first thing Barton noticed was that the room was square and relatively large, with not a single piece of furniture to take up space. The next and rather more important thing he noticed was that they were not alone.

A tall figure stood against the wall of the opposite side of the room. It didn’t matter how long it’d been, it took a mere breath of a second for recognition to get Barton’s heart pounding fast with damned, horrifying _joy_ , quickly followed and consumed by an ugly mass of hatred and anxiety. He was never supposed to experience this staggering tug between loyalty and loathing ever again. 

He was never supposed to see _him_ again. 

Loki’s lips pulled into a sardonic little smile as he said, “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letting you in on a little secret here: this is my first Loki/Avengers fanfic ever! I sincerely hope it wasn't painfully obvious as you were reading. I so want to get this idea down properly. It's a purely self-indulgent idea, poor Loki is not going to have a great time for the duration of this entire story; what can I say, the more I love a character, the more I hurt them. So if you're into that as much as I am (and if the writing wasn't too hard to get through), I hope you'll join me for however long my completion issues allow this baby to go! Also, I could really use some basic do's and don't's when it comes to the characters Tony, Clint, and Bruce, as I don't know them as well as I should to be writing them. Any help you could give me there (and for the story in general) I'll gladly welcome! *Phew*, okay, sorry, I'm done. Thanks so much for reading!!


	2. Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how I cope with certain unsavory events in recent canon (*cough*Infinity War). It's a form of therapy for my aching heart. I think I'm still in denial, actually. The feels, you guys. THE FEELS.
> 
> Ahem. Anyway. POV will probably be switching around for every chapter, unless I find one that I just really feel comfortable writing in more than anyone's else's. Gonna try my hand at Tony Stark, here; hope I don't get too far off the mark with him! Now, on with the story!

It could be worse. Tony Stark had experienced much worse things in life than being kidnapped and stuck into a magic-powered haunted house by his nemesis, the god of snatching playboy billionaires by the throat and tossing them out of multistory buildings like unwanted toys. Much, much worse. 

He took in all six-feet-and-then-some of said god, and swallowed. As true as that may be, it didn’t make the situation any less…alarming. 

“Gotta say, Bruce, I don’t think I would consider this something I would want to see,” Stark said without breaking his stare. When Banner had told them he’d found something apparently worth winding down several corridors to see for themselves, he’d hoped it was the goddamn exit. Or, because life wasn’t easy that way, at least something that’d lead them to the exit. Not to say he didn’t want to know that Loki was the one responsible for all this – he just didn’t want to see him if at all possible. It’d only been a month, for crying out loud.

If he thought he was having a hard time with this newest development, he could only imagine what was going through Clint’s mind. The man’s hands twitched like they wanted to reach for a weapon and Loki’s throat simultaneously. 

Bruce’s eyes darted from each of the room’s occupants to the other as he said, “I think if we just all, keep our cool, this can be resolved. He’s not – not a threat.”

Now Stark turned his stare over to Bruce, letting the incredulity that drew up his brows set the tone of his voice. “Not…a threat? I’m sorry, I know the other guy takes a lot out of you, memory-wise, but um…you did, in fact, see what Reindeer Games over here did to New York City, right? I mean yes, he did have help, but let’s not understate what he’s capable of all by himself.” 

“I’m aware, Tony, but if you’d look at him a bit closer - ”

“I’ll reserve that for when we actually need a distraction. And even then I’d nominate Clint for that little activity.”

“ – you’d see why we’re in no immediate danger.”

Clint’s jaw hardened as he peered at Bruce. “…Let me see your eyes.”

As Bruce turned his full attention to the suspicious Barton to convince him of his retained free will (Stark had doubted until he’d gotten a clear view of the scientist’s original irises himself), Tony decided to take up Bruce’s suggestion and inched closer to the pale man still up against the wall. 

Loki held his gaze unwaveringly. His face was tight and the smile had vanished, replaced by an emotionless line. In the back of his mind, Stark found it odd how much and how little the man had changed since the last time they’d met, though he was hardly in the mindset to notice just what those changes included. Much to his apprehension, he still couldn’t tell what made them oh-so-safe in the trickster’s presence. Tony kept taking small steps towards him, scanning his figure quickly so that he could return to his cold eyes in the hopes that they would give away some warning before Stark met intimately with a wall. Or the ceiling.

He’d gotten about six feet from his enemy when Loki, unblinking, murmured, “I wouldn’t take another step, if I were you.” 

Stark immediately froze. “That a threat?” 

“A suggestion.” Loki offered a ghost of a smirk. His long fingers flexed at his sides, and the movement drew Tony’s eyes to them. He saw that the insides of Loki’s hands were…burned? 

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes slightly and could just catch a shimmer of light flit through the space between him and Loki. He then hesitatingly reached out a hand, and with one finger…

“ _Ow!_ Fucking…dammit!” he hissed around the offending finger, now stuck in his mouth. It burned worse than if he’d jammed it with a soldering iron. Loki’s eyes did a little roll before landing on Barton and Bruce as they rushed over to Stark’s side. Tony quickly stretched his arms out to the sides to keep them back from the forcefield. 

“What – ”

“It’s alright, it’s all good. There’s – ”

“Did he – ”

“No, I just burned my finger. Stupidly, that…that was not my brightest moment.”

“Wait, how? On what?” Barton kept glaring at Loki, clearly unwilling to keep him out of his sights for long.

“There’s some kind of barrier, inches from where we’re standing. You can see it if you sort of squint. Would’ve been nice to know it was there, you know, before. Ironically if it hadn’t been for Loki I would be sporting a rather unflattering red all over my face right now.” He gave Banner a pointed look.

“Wait, I didn’t know anything was there! Honest,” Banner assured him, hands raised. “Of course I would’ve told you.”

“But…isn’t this what makes him not a threat?”

“Well, yeah, it sure does. I mean, unless he was the one that put it up, but I doubt it. No, what I was referring to was the fact that he’s, uh…pinned. To the wall.”

All three of them looked at Loki. Loki in turn glared at them, some of that deep-seated anger Stark had encountered firsthand rising up again to darken his features. Stark put in the effort required to ignore such an obvious warning sign so that he could find just what the hell Bruce was talking about. He noticed Loki was wearing the same armor he’d intimidated everyone with in New York, minus the set of horns. Tony’s eyes traced the crisscrossing lines of fabric, leather, and metal, looking for anything that kept Loki from magicking away the barrier and ending them here and now.

Barton snarled in frustration, “Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out what the fuck he wants with us? If he’s the one who brought us here, doesn’t that make him enough of a threat?”

“Uh, it’s just… I really, really don’t think – ”

“Oh my god.” Stark could think of only one other time in his life where he’d actually done a double-take. “That is not…that isn’t…”

From what he could tell (and he really wished he couldn’t), it looked as if someone had shot a large grapple hook through the wall of the adjacent room and it’d pierced Loki through the stomach, trapping him between four viciously barbed points and the wall. It was so strange and unorthodox a sight that once he noticed it he couldn’t, for the life of him, tear his gaze away. The metal of the hooks was nearly identical to that of the designs on Loki’s armor, blending into his figure with disturbing perfection. Tony was both bewildered and horrified.

“How. The _hell_. Are you still alive.” 

Stark’s exclamation had drawn Barton’s attention to the point where he was gawking, and now even he was having a hard time breaking his stare on the bizarre trap, brows furrowed in bemusement.

“As I told your friend,” Loki said, eyes hardened and, for the first time, downcast, “it is merely a manifestation of binding magic. I am physically unharmed, and therefore…alive.”

Stark didn’t think he imagined the whisper of disappointment in the trickster’s voice. Huh.

“Yeah, uh…he did mention that, when I asked. Earlier.” Bruce adjusted his glasses almost awkwardly. “Nothing else though. But, I think it’s safe to assume that he didn’t do this to himself, in which case there’s something else going on here.”

“Really don’t think we should assume anything from the supposed god of lies, over here,” Barton pointed out in a waspish tone. With good reason, Stark supposed. 

He was about to concur when he looked out the corner of his eye to see the subject of their conversation had shut his eyes. Without them to grip the majority of Stark’s attention, he was able to really notice the purplish, bruise-like shadows that darkened the alabaster skin surrounding each eye, an even worse state than the last time Stark had encountered the god. It was as though Loki hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in all the time since then. Tony could also just see the raised veins on Loki’s temples, and there was a noticeable jump in his jaw with how tense he kept it. Clear signs of an attempt to hide pain if Tony ever saw them. Unless the whole thing was a show to…what, garner sympathy? Somehow Tony doubted Loki’s pride would allow him to go through such trouble, but it was a possibility all the same. 

“Hey,” Stark called out to him. Barton and Bruce halted their back-and-forth debating to observe as Loki slowly opened his eyes. Tony watched carefully – sure enough there was a split second’s worth of strained exhaustion in them before Loki could blink it away. “If anyone’s going to have a clue of what we’re dealing with here, for better or worse, it’s going to be you, isn’t it?”

Loki didn’t look up, his anger dulled. “…I would’ve thought you informed,” he said at last. “Surely the magnanimous All-Father’s courtesy extends beyond dumping his prisoner’s victims here without a word of their duties.” 

There was a moment of quiet as the three Avengers processed what they’d just heard. Tony didn’t know where to start.

Bruce did. “The All-Father, as in…Odin, the king of the gods, right? So, your father?” he clarified. 

“This is your punishment?” Clint suddenly growled, having pieced things together. “For destroying half of New York and countless people’s lives, this is all you get?” He let out an incredulous, humorless laugh. “Guess not even the ‘king of the gods’ is above nepotism.”

“Okay but what do you mean when you say ‘duties’?” Stark put in, having decided most of his current interest was in getting that little detail cleared up. 

Loki glanced at each of their expectant faces. He really didn’t look so great. His bizarre form of entrapment was probably doing more than just holding him in place, Tony mused.

“You really have been told nothing?” Loki asked, genuinely surprised, it seemed. Then he laughed, a low, breathy sound. “Perhaps he assumed the implications of your presence here would be obvious enough for even a mortal to understand.”

“Yeah, well, you’re talking to two bona fide geniuses here, and Banner is no idiot, either,” Tony pressed. He ignored Bruce’s look and leaned in just a bit closer, careful that his nose didn’t meet with the barrier as he continued, “My friends and I woke up, in the pitch darkness, to find ourselves in a house straight out of the twilight zone, with no windows or doors to the outside, and now to top it off we find that we’re just caught in the middle of some weird alien-viking method of sentencing their persecuted. You’ll have to cut us some slack if we’re not in the right head space for picking up any subtle ‘implications’ from a higher power too high to show up and explain things himself.”

Loki’s brow quirked. “Is it really so subtle? Here you are, trapped in a building and faced with the man who threatened your planet and her people,” he said in an almost lulling tone. “He is bound, unarmed, powerless…helpless.” That tone soured as he ground each word out, boring holes into the wall behind them with his gaze. “There is nothing keeping you from enacting justice. Indeed, it is your duty and your right.”

Silence as they stared at him, on the cusp of finally understanding what was expected of them in that dark and unearthly prison. 

The trickster god exhaled through his nose. “Put another way, any and all violent instincts you harbor towards me – your enemy – must be drawn up and acted upon.” He shifted his gaze so that he stared directly into the depths of Tony’s very core. Too many fleeting emotions to discern in that intense stare, so that Tony could only identify what they made up as a whole: defeat. “That will be justice. _That_ is your duty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming together! Barely. Sort of. Starting to, at least, and that's what counts! Really hope I'm improving how I write the characters; if I'm getting one (or all) of them just super wrong, please lemme know before I keep doing what I'm doing. Thank you so much for reading and hope to see you next chapter!


End file.
